//------------------------------// // The Interview // Story: Syncopation // by Terrasora //------------------------------// “Remember what you have to do.” Fancy Pants paced the room, his face a perfect mask of serenity. “High and Mighty will want to do most of the talking and you should let them, just to make sure the public fully understands them, but you cannot allow them to dominate the conversation.” Octavia nodded. Vinyl suppressed a yawn. “The reporters,” continued Fancy Pants, “Quick Quill and Snap Shot, are on our side, but they will not be able to show any partiality during the interview itself. In fact, it may be best to act as though you’ve never had contact beyond seeing each other at the party. Though I’m not quite sure if the reporters have divulged their presence there to the public. Which shouldn’t particularly matter, but you never can be too careful. Especially with the media; there’s never any certainty to how they’ll react to--” Fleur de Lis placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Deep breaths, love. I don’t think your heart can take it.” Fancy Pants paused, locking eyes with his wife. Fleur exaggerated breathing in, then let out the breath slowly. The stallion rolled his eyes, but mimicked the gesture before turning back towards the musicians. “Just… be yourselves. You can do that, can’t you?” Vinyl grinned. “I don’t know how to do anything else, Boss.” Octavia nodded. “Don’t worry, Fancy Pants. I’m sure that we’ll be fine.” Fancy Pants smiled weakly, stealing a glance at the clock on the wall. “Thirty minutes until the interview. You two should leave now. Spokes will be waiting outside. Just remember to—“ Fleur threw him a look. A sigh escaped the stallion’s lips. “Right. I’ll be quiet now. Get out of here before you give me an ulcer.” Vinyl jumped off of her seat, her customary grin never slipping. “Alright. We’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t wait up.” She trotted off towards the door, closely followed by Octavia. “Octavia. Can you hold back for a moment?” The cellist paused, glancing at her marefriend. Vinyl shrugged and headed outside. Fancy Pants’ gaze stayed firmly on the wall behind the Octavia, a worried, fatherly expression on his face. “I feel terrible for having to ask this, Octavia, but will you be able to handle yourself in this interview?” Octavia blanched. “Handle myself?” “Your previous outburst worries me, Miss Philharmonica.” Fancy Pants’ eyes fell onto Octavia. “I have to know whether I have reason to worry or not.” “You can hardly blame me,” replied Octavia defensively. “The things they were saying, the way they were acti—” “They are not good ponies, Miss Philharmonica. Mr. and Mrs. Scratch are the Canterlot that you have not often come into contact to. They are the image of Canterlotians that I and Fleur and your parents have attempted to disprove for the longest amount of time.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “That will not change in the short time since you have seen them. They will be just as repugnant as they have ever been. In a different manner, perhaps, but just as terrible. I ask again, Miss Philharmonica: Will you be able to handle yourself?” Octavia paused. “I-I think so, Fancy Pants.” “Good. Thank you.” He smiled. “You should get going. Vinyl will be waiting.” Octavia nodded, saying her goodbyes and stepping through the door. Fleur de Lis trotted over to the now vacated seats. “You shouldn’t have done that. It will be weighing on her mind for the entire interview.” “I know. Hopefully, it will weigh enough to keep her from jumping out of her seat and over the table.” Fancy Pants scowled, his words colored with the lightest bit of bitterness. “Hopefully it will be heavy enough to weigh down her hooves.” A pause, then: “You’re tired.” Fancy Pants let out a breath. “Yes. Very much so.” Fleur patted the seat next to her. “Come sit down.” “I don’t want to.” “Oh, stop being a child.” Fancy Pants dragged his hooves over to the seat, flopping unceremoniously onto the cushion. “What do you want?” Fleur de Lis hugged Fancy Pants, holding him in a slightly uncomfortable position. “It’ll be fine.” “Of course it will.” “No, I need you to say it. It will be fine.” “Honestly, Fleur—” “It will be fine.” Fancy Pants grumbled slightly. “It will be fine.” *** “No, send Photo Finish to see her. She and Sapphire Shores have a bit of a history.” “Are you sure?” Hoity Toity shuffled the papers on his desk. “Yes, I’m sure. Tell them that I have some business to attend to, but will join them later.” Trans Script took a note, but glanced up uncertainly at her boss. Hoity Toity met her gaze. “It will be fine.” He got out of his chair, wandering around the room, wading through multiple files to get to a filing cabinet filled to the brim with carefully arranged papers. “Is that all, Mister Toity?” “Yes.” He pulled out a file, bringing down his slightly smeared glasses in order to see it better. “No. Almost. Give me a quick status report on the negotiations.” “Which ones?” “Whichever is most convenient for you to report.” Trans Script quickly flicked through a few files. “Sapphire Shores is in her final stages. She has not conveyed any problems with the contract that we have offered her and her prior contract expires soon. This is the basic trend in the negotiations with few abnormalities from artist to artist.” “Few?” asked Hoity Toity. He threw the paper aside and dove back into the filing cabinet. “Nothing that requires your immediate attention.” “Miss Script.” Trans Script let out a sigh. “‘Everything requires your immediate attention.’” “Quite so. Especially now. This is delicate, Miss Script; we need those contracts out now, before the end of the day if possible.” “It’s possible.” Hoity Toity extracted two folders of papers, leaving them on top of the cabinet. He took off his glasses, running a fine rag over them until they gleamed. He ran a hoof through his mane before producing a comb from one of his pockets and forcing a few stray strands into place.  “It’s not just possible, Miss Script. It’s happening.” *** “We’re here to see Quick Quill and Snap Shot.” “Of course. Two floors up, it will be room 314. The stairs are just over there.” The receptionist flashed them a smile, waving vaguely towards the corner of the room. Octavia and Vinyl nodded their thanks, following the gesture through a door and into a stairwell. Vinyl grinned nervously, nudging into Octavia. “You excited, Octy?” Octavia glanced at Vinyl. “Is that a joke?” “A bit. Just to make sure we’re not too uptight during the interview. That’d be bad.” They rounded the first flight of stairs. “So, how are you feeling?” asked Vinyl. “Fine.” Vinyl began to say something, but stopped herself. She nodded a few times, more for her own benefit than Octavia’s. They pushed their way out of the stairwell, out into a very business-oriented hallway complete with landscape paintings at regular interval. Their heads swung from side to side, quietly watching the numbers tick onwards. The mares stopped before room 314. “Ready, Tavi?” Octavia raised a hoof to the door. “Ready or not, Vinyl, it’s happening.” She knocked, three times, concise and measured. “Enter,” spoke two voices from the other side of the door. Octavia pushed the door open and she and Vinyl entered. The room was spacious, far more so than the building’s design had suggested. A large window afforded a view of some of Canterlot and bookcases, filled to the brim with books that seemed like they had never been touched, line the walls. In the middle of the room stood six chairs, two pairs facing each other and the last pair sitting just off-center. Snap Shot and Quick Quill sat in the last pair, both reporters glancing upwards and breaking into grins at the sight of the mares. “Miss Philharmonica!” said one. “Miss Scratch!” said the other. “Such a pleasure to see the both of you!” said both. Octavia and Vinyl greeted the reporters. Snap Shot waved a hoof towards one pair of chairs. “Why don’t ya have a seat? The other two haven’t shown up yet.” Vinyl rolled her eyes, trotting over to the chairs, closely followed by her marefriend. “‘Course they haven’t.” Quick Quill’s magic flared reflexively, his quill dipping towards a notepad before he realized what he was doing. “Try not to do that during the actual interview, Vinyl,” he said, floating his quill back into his hat’s band. “My pen has a mind of its own.” Vinyl gave him a curious look. Quick Quill’s face was completely serious. A faint wisp of green still covered his quill, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice. Vinyl nodded. “Speakin’ of the interview,” cut in Snap Shot. “How are you two feelin’? Excited? Worried?” Vinyl rocked her head from side to side, looking up towards the ceiling. “I’m not sure if those are the right words. It’s more like… Tavi, mind helping me out here?” “Glad that we get to give our own side of the story?” Snap Shot nodded. “Nice. That’s a good way to head into an interview. Keep that thought in your head.” He tapped his temple with a hoof and gave them a smile. A slightly awkward silence fell on the room. Vinyl and Octavia glanced around the room and the reporters were quite content to busy themselves with the final preparations for the interview proper. “How much longer until the interview?” asked Octavia. Snap Shot glanced up at a clock. “‘’Bout ten minutes. Assuming the other two actually decide to show up.” “They’ll be here,” said Vinyl resolutely. She tapped out a rhythm with a hoof, a quick, measured beat, glancing nervously at the door. “They wouldn’t miss it.” Octavia reached over, resting a hoof on Vinyl’s. The DJ turned with a slight start, but quickly masked her surprise as she caught Octavia’s eye. The cellist offered a tight smile and pretended not to notice the way Vinyl’s hoof was shaking. Octavia wanted to say something, to whisper assurances to Vinyl, have her understand that nothing could go wrong, that she, Octavia, would not allow anyone to sabotage their time together. No matter how terrible or selfish they were. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t find the words. Octavia leaned forward, brushing her lips against Vinyl’s cheek. A peck, playful. Like the kisses from when they had first started dating. A reminder. Vinyl stopped shaking. There was a knock on the door, two quick raps before it swung open to reveal two grinning unicorns dressed in their finest clothes. “Mr. Scratch!” greeted a reporter. “Mrs. Scratch!” greeted the other. “We’re so glad that you could join us!” they said in tandem. “Wouldn’t miss it,” screeched High Scratch. She glanced at the other pair, her eyes pointedly skipping over Octavia and settling on her daughter. “Vinyl.” She said it with a short ‘i.’  Every single time. A short ‘i.’ That simple, pompous detail that just… Calm down, Octavia. Deep breaths. “High.” Vinyl’s face remained neutral, expressionless. A look only compounded by the fact that no one in the room could see her eyes. Purple lenses turned towards the other stallion. “Mighty.” Snap Shot’s lips twitched up the slightest bit. “So, you’re all acquainted. We’ll begin shortly. Mr. and Mrs. Scratch, if you don’t mind taking a seat?” They trotted around the room, trying to take their seats with as much grace as possible. “Can I get you anything?” asked Snap Shot. “Water? Tea? We have oolong, lemon, chamomile, Earl Grey, and dozens of other types that Quick Quill has spent hundreds of bits collecting.” “And that Snap Shot has repeatedly incorrectly steeped, forcing me to spend even more bits replacing the leaves.” Two inkwells floated forward, wrapped in an acid green aura. They came to rest on a small coffee table in front of the center pair of chairs. “Nothing for me,” said High Scratch. Mighty nodded. “Oolong tea, if it isn’t too much of a hassle,” Octavia said politely. They turned towards Vinyl. “I don’t drink a lot of hot leaf juice.” Vinyl said with a shrug. “I’ll take whatever Tavi says is good.” “Hot… leaf juice,” said Quick Quill disbelievingly. “Two oolong, then,” said Snap Shot. He glanced at Vinyl again. “One that’s been drowned in sugar.” Vinyl grinned. “That’s the only way to drink it.” “Damn straight.” “Blasphemers,” muttered Quick Quill. “Heathens against a proper cuppa.” A tea kettle off in the corner of the room was enveloped in a green aura. It filled with water and set itself to boil. Snap Shot settled into his chair. “Now, Mr. and Mrs. Scratch, how are we feeling today?” “Wonderful!” replied the mare with measured enthusiasm. “My face was rather swollen for a time, but it has healed up nicely.” “Glad to hear it.” Snap Shot offered a grin. “And how are you feeling about the interview?” “My wife and I,” came Mighty’s stereotypical haughty voice, “are very thankful for this opportunity to clear the air between ourselves and our daughter.” He paused slightly and cleared. “And Miss Philharmonica, of course.” Octavia nodded. Mighty suddenly became very interested in the floor. A high-pitched whine crescendoed from the corner of the room. A green aura sprouted around the kettle, lifting it up and pouring a bit of boiling water into the teapot. Snap Shot watched the floating tea set with mild interest. “I don’t know why you put so much effort into your hot leaf juice.” “Tea,” insisted Quick Quill, “must be done right or else it shouldn’t be done at all.” “And that’d be a shame, a right crying shame, wouldn’t it?” Snap Shot’s mouth curled up into a smirk. “Imagine a world without hot leaf juice.” Quick Quill dumped out the water in the teapot and added a few loose tea leaves. “Oh, shut up.” He poured most of the kettle’s water into the pot. “There. The tea will be ready in a few minutes. Shall we begin the interview?” Two pairs of heads nodded, settling back into their seats slightly. Quick Quill floated out his pen and paper. Snap Shot lifted his camera and quickly took a few photos, flashing a quick smile around the room. He put his camera down and closed his eyes slightly. “Good afternoon, fillies and gentlecolts,” Snap Shot began in a business-like voice. A quill scratched against the pad of paper. “Today we are joined by four ponies who have been the talk of Canterlot for some days now. High, Mighty, Vinyl, Octavia, thank you so much for accepting our interview request. We are very proud to have you here today.” “Thank you for having us,” replied the four, almost in tandem. Snap Shot nodded, then continued. “Now, I’m sure that you’re all very busy and I’d hate to keep you from your lives for longer than I must, so we will jump directly into the first question. Regarding the incident some nights ago: Octavia, why did you lash out at High and Mighty Scratch?” Octavia blinked. “Has nopony told you what they were saying?” “There have been rumors,” replied Snap Shot, “but I think that our readers would appreciate a response directly from the involved parties.” “They had insulted Vinyl.” Octavia’s eyes turned towards the Scratches, glaring in accusation. “Saying terrible things about their own daughter. About my musical partner. I was not going to take that in silence.” “I see,” said Snap Shot. “Mr. and Mrs. Scratch, do you have anything you’d like to say?” High Scratch straightened slightly. “While it is true that I said some things that I regret immensely, Miss Philharmonica has taken my words out of context. Mighty and I were attempting to make amends with our Vinyl.” Our ‘Vinall.’ Octavia felt her eye twitch. She’s not yours. And she’s not ‘Vinell.’ “You see,” continued the mare, “our daughter had gone through quite the rebellious phase; it’s the reason why she ended up in Canterlot after our move to Manehattan.” Her head drooped and she allowed the slightest shake to enter her voice. “We were worried sick about her but she had disappeared from the face of Equestria! We had no idea that she was even in Canterlot until we saw the article in Equestria Daily and we hardly had a chance to see her until the gathering.” She looked up and met Vinyl’s gaze. “We missed you so much, darling.” Snap Shot smiled sadly. “Tragic. Absolutely tragic. It’s wonderful that you were able to reunite again.” “Thank you,” said Mighty Scratch. “Of course.” Snap Shot offered another smile before turning away. “Vinyl, would you mind adding your own thoughts to the matter?” “I-” Vinyl’s voice came out dry. She cleared her throat. A cup of tea, enveloped in a green aura, floated to a stop before her. Vinyl nodded her thanks and took a sip. Her voice was shaking when she spoke again. “Ah… I’m trying so hard right now. To come up with the ‘right’’ way ta-- to-- respond. Ah’d -- I’d -- be amazed if High and Mighty ever looked for me.” She turned away, taking a few calming breaths. “They’re lying.” “Vinyl,” said Snap Shot, “do you need a moment?” Vinyl nodded. “Of course.” The reporter turned towards High and Mighty. “Your daughter doesn’t seem to agree with you.” “It’s saddening,” said Mighty with a frown. “Incredibly saddening. This is the same way she responded at the party. She simply does not want to forgive us.” “We’ve made mistakes,” cut in his wife, “but we want to fix those mistakes. Vinyl--” Vinall. “-- could you find it in your heart to leave the past behind you?” Vinyl let out a laugh. She added a cube of sugar to her tea, then another, then another, before tossing it back and draining half of it. “No. I can’t. You ‘have no daughter’, remember? Or I don’ know, maybe ya don’t! But I remember, High and Mighty, I remember every damn day since Ah decided ta stop listenin’ to ya, since I decided ta become who I wanted to be instead of what ya wanted me ta be. I remember comin’ back from school, tellin’ ya that I dropped out and you two tellin’ me that I had ten minutes ta pack my things and get out of your house. “I remember comin’ to Canterlot and meeting ponies, decent ponies, that actually wanted to help me.” Vinyl finished the rest of her tea. “You’re not my parents anymore and you’re telling these decent ponies nothin’ but bullshit.” High and Mighty stared at their daughter blankly, their jaws hanging slack. Octavia was doing all she could to keep a cheer back. She placed a hoof on Vinyl’s, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. A reminder. Vinyl smiled tightly. “I see,” said Snap Shot. “That’s quite the accusation. Mr. and Mrs. Scratch?” Mrs. Scratch gulped, trying to clear her throat. “We-we’re shocked that our daughter has such ire towards us--” “She’s not your daughter, High Scratch,” cut in Octavia. “Vinyl just told us that you stripped her of that privilege.” The last word dripped with irony. “Do not interrupt me!” snapped the mare. She glanced at Quick Quill, who was still scratching away at his pad of paper. “It was a moment of anger, hardly worth taking seriously. We still love Vinyl.” Vinyl snorted, but didn’t say anything more. Mrs. Scratch’s face tinged with pink. “In any case, it doesn’t change the fact that I was struck, quite savagely, by Miss Philharmonica.” She almost hissed the name. “Indeed, it doesn’t.” Snap Shot turned again. “It was, for all intents and purposes, assault. Octavia, what do you have to say?” Octavia stared straight across, into the eyes of the two Scratches. “I lost my head. I should not have struck you as I did. It terrified my family and my friends. I myself am terrified by the idea that the idea of ‘a red mist clouding a pony’s vision’ is an entirely accurate description. But if anypony insults any of those I hold dear, if they had say anything half as bad as what you said to my marefriend.” She tightened her grip on Vinyl’s hoof. “I would not hesitate to do it again.” She turned towards Snap Shot. “That’s what I have to say.” Snap Shot nodded. “I would do the same. Now, I believe that this interview has run long enough, but I will ask one more question. High and Mighty Scratch, you two traveled from Manehattan to Canterlot to attend the gathering at the Philharmonica’s. May I ask who sent you the invitation?” The Scratches had deflated immensely. Mighty Scratch was back to pawing at his hair and High Scratch was suddenly fascinated by the floor. “Prince Blueblood,” said the mare sullenly, “one of the few friends that our family still has within Canterlot.” “I see. Well, that wraps up our interview for this afternoon. Thank you, High, Mighty, Octavia, and Vinyl for giving us this opportunity. And I’d like to thank our readers who peruse this interview. It’s been a pleasure.” *** Blueblood put down the magazine, right next to the other file. He was alone, in his office. No, not his office. Not anymore. This was it. He had reached rock bottom and there simply wasn’t a way out. “Knock, knock,” came a voice from the door. “May I come in?” Blueblood glanced up just as Hoity Toity trotted in. The Prince snarled. “Come to gloat, you peasant?” “Hardly a need for it.” He trotted around the office, inspecting it as though it were his. “I’d like to think that I take my victories in stride.” “Get out. It sickens me to even think of you.” “Come now, Blueblood. I had warned you. I said that your Game Over was near. You should have heeded my warnings.” “You knew that I wouldn’t.” “Indeed.” Blueblood flipped through the folder once more. Resignation after resignation. Surely, somewhere in Hoity Toity’s office lay an exact opposite to these files. “You distracted me.” “With Fancy Pants, yes. Business lesson, Blueblood. You ignored those beneath you, discounted them. What loyalty could they hold to you when a promising new position was held right before them?” Prince Blueblood flipped through the files one more time. “You took all of them. Every pony whose contract was coming to an end or was waiting to be renewed. And those who still have some time left agreed to sign with you upon the contract’s termination.” “Yes, I was running around like a mad mare. You should have seen the state of my mane.” The file scattered around the room in a burst of golden magic. “You ruined me!” Hoity Toity shrugged. “It’s business, Blueblood. A businesspony’s game that you weren’t prepared for. Take from this experience, learn from it and rid yourself of your horrid sense of self-entitlement.” “You… You bastard.” Hoity Toity trotted towards the doorway. “Businesspony, Blueblood. Merely a businesspony.”